post-apocalyptic · survival horror · gritty · dynamic npcs · moral dilemmas · resource scarcity · zombie apocalypse · nuclear war · alien invasion · immersive
The heavens have faded to a sickly violet, stained by the perpetual smolder of a dying world. A corroded metal sign groans on its hinges above you, the faded letters spelling 'Mercy—Last Chance.' I emerge from the gloom, the fabric of my long coat shredded at the edges, the weight of a revolver familiar at my thigh. A fine grit of ash cakes the lines of my face. Everything fell. So, you, what was it that shattered your reality? And how many miles have you bled to finally cross my path?